


Unconditional Love

by awrites (awritesrated)



Series: He's The One [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF Harry Potter, Insecure Sherlock Holmes, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Protective Harry Potter, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:07:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23840551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awritesrated/pseuds/awrites
Summary: Harry and Sherlock meets under less than stellar circumstances. Sherlock finally have someone in his corner. After Sherlock and John’s fallout, everyone shunned him. Harry was the only exception.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Harry Potter
Series: He's The One [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1717888
Comments: 64
Kudos: 728
Collections: Best Harry Potter Crossovers





	1. The Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfic is purely for my own amusement. Keep in mind that I do not have a beta, or anyone reading through my work, so if there are any mistakes...well...point them out and I'll maybe edit them:) 
> 
> AU Explanation:  
> Mary has just died here, and the story starts right after Sherlock left John's house, right after Molly told Sherlock John wouldn't want any help from him. On the way back after he received the letter, he was abducted, and tortured for a little over two months before Harry Potter sensed his distress and rescued him. 
> 
> I hope all these made sense hahaha!

## Chapter 1: The Meeting

Harry was only walking along the street when he sensed it. He truly wasn’t looking for these things. He might have a so-called “Hero Complex” as Hermione used to put it, but he didn’t go looking for fights. But along with his powers from being the Master of Death, he also inherited the power to sense distress. He could block it out, of course, generally…usually…but this time…it was such a broken sound that Harry had to intervene.

What was alarming was instead of the amount of physical pain he sensed the person going through, this person was drowning in emotional pain. Self-loathing, low self-worth, everything Harry was when he was still a child trying to win the approval of the magical world. Earnest, eager to please, but shot down every time he tried. Harry was drawn to this person the moment he sensed him. He hurried along the street, manoeuvring the countless abandoned buildings, even having to go under a bridge and finding a secret tunnel hiding quite in plain sight. He silently stalked in, and slowly began to hear painful moans and the sounds of a whip. Harry hurried a little, startled by what he was hearing and anxious to find out what was going on.

He slipped into a cavernous room, and saw a man with shaggy black hair and frankly quite torn up clothes, hanging from the ceiling helplessly as another man whipped him senseless. The whipping man had his back towards him, but the helpless man was facing him. He saw Harry the moment he stepped into the room, his eyes widening slightly before masking his shock. He obviously figured out that Harry wasn’t a part of this operation.

Harry held on to his rage as he saw the helpless man lower his eyes. That…the moment their eyes met…Harry was completely sure…that was his soulmate. He never thought he would ever find his soulmate, not when he had been searching for twenty years. To finally have found him, yet in such impossible circumstances, he couldn’t bear it any longer. He shot a petrificus spell on the torturer, and walked up to the man hanging from the ceiling. Holding on to his tears, his fingers twitched as he released the man from his bindings wandlessly, and held on to him as he fell.

“You need to leave.” The man whispered, voice hoarse undoubtably from screaming.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you out. Just rest. Everything will be fine.” Harry tried to reassure him. The man searched his face, and seemingly found what he was looking for. He relaxed in Harry’s arms, and fell unconscious. Harry casted a feather-light charm on the man, and lifting him easily, walked out on the room, a dangerous orange light illuminating behind him as he proceeded out of the tunnel, and apparated to the alley behind the nearest hospital.

Sherlock felt more than heard someone speaking near him. The vibrations kicking off a sense of security in his heart. He kept his eyes closed as he came back to his bearings, taking stock of what he can deduce without opening his eyes. He remembered everything that happened between John and himself. He remembered offering John help but being rejected. He remembered walking home dejectedly, only to be knocked unconscious and brought to that hell hole. He remembered feeling confident Mycroft could find him, and being disappointed when he apparently would not be able to. He remembered thinking John would search for him even though they were not on the best of terms. He remembered hoping, the endless hoping and the endless disappointment and feeling that…maybe…he had finally gone too far and lost all his friends in the process.

Sherlock felt tears pricking his eyes, and he swallowed silently. Someone else came to mind though. The black haired, green eyed man. The man who somehow singlehandedly defeated whoever was whipping him, and releasing him from his bonds, all without lifting a finger. Whoever he was, he was a dangerous man. But for the life of him, Sherlock could only feel safe while he thought of him. Dangerous as the man might be, Sherlock was confident the man wasn’t dangerous to himself at all.

He slowly opened his eyes, and saw that same man sitting by his bed, apparently talking to his unconscious self.

“Okay, I know this is weird, and you probably will not believe me, but we’re soulmates, ok? We’re meant to be together. So…so no matter what you’ve been through in the past, whatever or whoever hurt you, will answer to me from now on. Well…if you don’t want a relationship, I suppose we can be friends. Just…I’m hoping I can be in your life…like permanently. Frequently.” The man was going on and on and Sherlock could only stare at him in confusion. This man held himself with respect, but an underlying thrum of humility threads his movements. He wears fine clothes, but very bad and inaccurate glasses judging by the way his pupils enlarge from time to time, straining to see. He was muscular, and if Sherlock remembered correctly, had secret abilities and was not afraid of dangerous situations. He seemed like the military type, but his demeanour also screamed businessman. A walking contradiction. The man seemed to be constantly babbling about being soulmates, and by the way he talks, Sherlock was able to deduce that he definitely believed the nonsense he was spouting…except…it cannot be nonsense for this person had done inexplicable things before him. He might be…telling the truth.

After the disaster of his attempted friendship with John though, Sherlock was wary of getting into a relationship this soon. But the sense of security and safety never faded. This man was powerful, yet he was sitting by his bed, stuttering like a fool. Perhaps…he warranted some benefit of his doubt.

“I don’t even know your name yet.” He croaked with his unused voice. The man’s head shot up and looked straight at him in obvious shock, and then he let out a huge breath, gifting him with the biggest grin.

“Harry.” He breathed, “Harry Potter.” Then he reached over and pressed the button by his bed. The doctor and nurses will be here soon.

“And you?” Harry asked, joy and relief unmistakably infused in his voice. Sherlock’s eyes fluttered close as memories of his first meeting with John flooded his mind. Will this be any different? He took a deep breath, then softly answered, “Sherlock Holmes.”

Harry saw the way Sherlock’s lips thinned in sadness, and couldn’t help but wondered what happened to put this man in such misery. He wouldn’t ask though, it was his story to tell, and he will only do it if he feels like it. Harry wasn’t about to push, he knew how difficult talking about painful memories can be. He squeezed Sherlock’s hand, and Sherlock’s eyes flew open as if just realising Harry’s hands on his, and Harry smiled at him softly.

The hospital staff strode in briskly, shooing Harry into a far corner before running their tests. When they were done, and allowed Harry back near Sherlock, both of them were beyond distressed. Sherlock didn’t feel safe when Harry was out of sight, and Harry could feel Sherlock’s barely suppressed panic. He rushed back to his side and took hold of his hand, and Sherlock squeezed him tightly.

“He has multiple burns along his torso, deep lacerations on both his front and his back. His muscles in his hands are strained, but not dislocated or severely injured. A couple of his ribs are broken, and breathing will be…difficult…for a while. His fingers and toes have…been broken multiple times, and will need time to heal. He’s generally dehydrated and malnourished. I’d like to keep him here overnight for observations, then he can be discharged if no complications come up tomorrow. He’ll need lots of bedrest and care for the next few weeks. I’ll come back tomorrow for another check.” The doctor hesitantly but professionally reiterated his injuries and treatment, before leading the staff back out, leaving them alone again.


	2. John

## Chapter 2 – John

Sherlock did get discharged the next day. Surprisingly, Mycroft didn’t visit him at all. Probably able to see he was ok and decided it was a waste of time. Well…Sherlock didn’t want to deal with him anyway. Harry had been there throughout the whole ordeal. He helped Sherlock when he needed to relieve himself, he helped Sherlock when it was too difficult to hold a spoon steady enough, and he helped Sherlock get through his boredom by telling him all about his magical life. Sherlock would never have believed him if he didn’t see it just the day before.

Sherlock didn’t trust easily, but this man here just shouts “I’m trustworthy” at you, bombards you with that feeling until you have no choice but to accept it. His explanation about soulmates helped too he supposed. A fated match, absolute loyalty after bonding, the sharing of abilities. Very tempting, but to Sherlock, it also sounded like something he would be terrified of losing if he ever agreed to accepting. He lost John in one lifesaving, death defying act. He didn’t want to lose anything else.

Sherlock could tell that Harry could tell he was reluctant to accept him. For the life of him, he could not understand Harry’s patience in him. Granted Sherlock have been keeping his “assholeness” to a minimum, but he has been reliably informed that his least combative state was still quite a heartless state. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Harry to announce “I’ve had enough of you”. Yet he stayed, and even helped him get into a cab and up into his flat in 221B Baker Street.

Sherlock was grateful for Harry’s presence, and for fear of offending him, Sherlock had spoken less than ten sentences since he was rescued. He could tell Harry was worried, but he much preferred a worried Harry to an angry Harry. He couldn’t take another beating, not after the emotional one he took at John’s, then the physical one in that hell hole. No, he will keep his piece and his silence.

They struggled to squeeze through the narrow stairway, and opened the door to what appeared to be a despondent John sitting on his usual chair. He looked up instantly, and spotted Sherlock’s frame. Sherlock’s frailness missed his notice though, for all he could see was a safe Sherlock, who came back after making him worry for the couple months he was missing, _again_. As if once wasn’t enough, he had to do it again.

He marched right up to the detective and hands flailing in anger.

“How dare you! Once wasn’t enough, you had to do it again? How selfish of a bastard could you be!”

But before he could do anything, he was thrown to the opposite side of the room. Sherlock’s eyes widened in shock, as he has been doing the past day. Wow…that was…interesting…to say the least. Harry, in turn, was quite angry at John’s display. He felt Sherlock’s body freeze rigid by his side when they caught side of the man sitting in the apartment, and the slight flinch when that man stomped towards them. Sherlock feared this man, he’d hurt him before. Harry wasn’t going to stand there and let this man hurt his soulmate.

John landed in a fairly safe corner in the room, far from Sherlock, but nothing in his way but the wall behind him. Surprisingly, even with the amount of force he felt throwing him across the room, he didn’t feel much impact, or even knock into anything hard. Except maybe his backside. He looked up in shock to see a man standing in front of Sherlock protectively, glaring at him as if he was the one doing something wrong. He angrily stood back up, and narrowed his eyes. However this young man pushed him with such force, he wasn’t going to be cowed.

“Who are you?” John asked suspiciously. Anyone acting in Sherlock’s defence would be someone John found difficulty trusting.

“Sherlock’s friend.” Harry answered in equal, if not more, derision. He turned around, and grabbed hold of Sherlock’s hands, leading him towards one of the chairs. He didn’t miss the tension Sherlock almost immediately let take over his body the body John started speaking. Harry was more than pissed at this inconsiderate man. Couldn’t he see the state Sherlock was in? How could he throw accusations at him the moment he saw him. From the looks of it, Sherlock couldn’t even offend this man recently. He was abducted and tortured for God’s sake!

“Please leave.” Harry requested softly while he knelt in front of Sherlock, tending to the dislodged bandages. Climbing the stairs did not do him any good. Sherlock squirmed under his ministrations but ceased when Harry gave him a stern look. “I’m just checking, everything’s going to be fine.”

John looked on in anger as the proclaimed friend took care of Sherlock. The gentle way he dealt with the genius didn’t escape him. Was this the next person Sherlock’s going to hurt while on a case? Was he using this young man just as he used Janine?

“Who’s this then? Are you using him as well? Sherlock, Jesus, if you are manipulating someone else to get what you want for a case again, I swear I will…”

“Leave.” Harry cut John off the moment he saw tears forming in Sherlock’s eyes. Sherlock had clenched his hands into a fist, which did not help his injured fingers at all, and was obviously trying to keep his trembling under control. It only got worse though, and as John went on and on, Sherlock lowered his eyes and bit his lower lips. Alright, this man had got to go. There was no way Sherlock could recover when he was right there flinging accusations around.

John only turned red with rage in response, “You have no right…”

“And do you?” Harry coldly questioned. Did this man have the right to go in and out of Sherlock’s home without supervision? What was their relationship?

“Damn right I do! I live here!” John shouted at him, but then Harry felt Sherlock jerk at his answer, and when Harry turned to look at him, he saw Sherlock’s bowed head trying to go even lower than it could possibly go.

“Sherlock?” Harry placed his hand under the tall man’s chin and lifted his head up, “Is he telling the truth?” Sherlock tried his hardest to avoid Harry’s eyes, and Harry knew the answer. Somehow, John was lying, but Sherlock didn’t want to expose the lie. Was he afraid of retribution, or was it something else?

“Just what is going on here!” Just then, an old lady buzzled into the room, taking everything in at a glance, “Oh Sherlock! We’ve all been worried sick about you!” She went straight to the battered man in the chair. Sherlock shrunk into his coat, but it was more sheepish than scared, so Harry let the old lady near. She stroked Sherlock on the cheek.

“And who’s this? A new friend Sherlock? Well, good! You need more people taking care of you. Is he going to take over John’s old room?”

“I’m fine Mrs Hudson, stop fussing!” Sherlock said almost petulantly, and lightly slapped the lady’s hand away. Except Harry could see his obvious enjoyment at her attention. That answers the question of whether this _John_ had a right to be here as well. Harry turned towards the other man, and raised his eyebrows. John’s face turned into a scowl, but before it could fully form, Mrs Hudson turned around and saw his expression.

“John! What are you still doing here? Sherlock’s safe now, so you better go back to little Rosie. We’ll take good care of our genius.” And she bustled John right out the door without warning, before turning around and looking at Sherlock sternly.

“Now, I expect you to eat properly and rest as much as you can. God knows you need it. I will keep John out as long as I can, but I cannot do it forever.” Harry watched bemusedly as Mrs Hudson scolded Sherlock about his lack of care for his own health.

“Oh, do shut up Mrs Hudson.” Sherlock groused, and Harry smacked his knee admonishingly, and his eyes lowered immediately.

Mrs Hudson was taken aback by Sherlock’s behaviour. Sherlock just didn’t back down this easily. But this man crouching in front of Sherlock seemed the gentle sort, so it could be good for Sherlock to have a friend in his corner.

“Hi dearie, I’m Mrs Hudson. If you need anything just call me alright? I live just downstairs.”

Harry smiled at the friendly old lady, and introduced himself, reassuring her that he’d take care of Sherlock before she decided to leave.


	3. History

##  Chapter 3 – History

Harry looked at the oddly shy man sitting before him, and though Sherlock had remained silent throughout the couple days they were together, it seemed overly so. Harry knew Sherlock might be uncomfortable with all his attention, but now he suspected it might be due to some underlying insecurity that he might have difficulty understanding.

“I…should be in more pain.” Sherlock remarked offhandedly, looking right at Harry expectantly. Smart one, his soulmate. Somehow he’d figured out Harry had something to do with the comfort of his seemingly uncomfortable chair. Well…uncomfortable for a body full of wounds.

“I shot a cushioning charm on the chair before you sat in it.” Harry responded softly. Sherlock merely nodded, accepting his words without much fuss. That was another mystery, that Sherlock accepted his abilities without questions or even curiosity. Harry furrowed his eyebrows as he stood up, leveraging himself on Sherlock’s knee for a moment.

“Tea?” Harry asked, and Sherlock clenched his jaws and squeezed his eyes shut. John asked that infernal question almost everyday when they were living together. Sherlock was torn between his crumbling friendship with John and this seemingly unconditional relationship with Harry. How could he believe in something he had never had the privilege to experience before? He was cautious, monitoring and censoring himself almost constantly, his experience with John has made him weary of being himself. He had thought John would be there for him always, that their bond would last beyond any flaw in his emotional range. Yet…John proved to be the same as every other person. How could Sherlock fault him though, it _was_ his own problems and inability to understand emotions that caused all the problems in their interactions. Harry…he was god sent, and so _good_ to him, but if the flaws he displayed around John forced Harry to leave…Sherlock would be completely shattered. He _knew_ he wouldn’t be able to survive another rejection. He _knew_.

He started when he felt Harry’s hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes to see a cup balanced on a dish, held right in front of him. He pursed his lips as he accepted the tea, and sipped it little by little, using it as an excuse to refrain from blurting all the deductions he had made in the past couple days. Deductions were bad. They were always the beginning of every bad experience he had ever had. Normally, he wouldn’t care much about his transport of people’s reactions, but he cared about Harry’s impression of him, unbelievable as it might be, probably more than he cared for John, and he didn’t want to screw this up. No matter what he told himself, this man had taken care of him to his best abilities, without complaint, without expectations, and for some reason, Sherlock felt safe with him. He _wanted_ this relationship to work, even if they only met two days ago. Well, they did say the damsels usually fell for their heroes. Harry _did_ rescue him after all.

“You’ve been quiet.” Harry said, and Sherlock looked up at him in question. Was he supposed to respond to that? Was he supposed to start talking about things? Harry wasn’t done though, even as his heart broke over the insecurity that flashed through Sherlock’s expression.

“I know I’ve been telling you a lot about myself, but I actually left out quite a bit of the more…dreary stuff. I know…about difficult pasts, and impossible situations, and I just wanted to tell you…to reassure you really, that no matter what you’ve done, or what you think might disappoint me…you won’t. That’s not self-confidence, nor naivete. I have faith in my magic, and it has chosen my soulmate. My soulmate will never be someone I cannot bear to be with. So…when you’re ready, I’ll listen, but if you’re not, or if you never will be…I’ll still be here. I will not leave, or if I do, I’ll take you with me. Do you understand?”

Sherlock stared at Harry in shock, speechless, a rarity he only had experienced once or twice. This…amazing man…had put his worries to rest in his own way, _observed_ and deduced his insecurities without help and tried…in his own way…to reassure him. It didn’t work of course…he was still sceptical over the whole magic thing. But to have that much faith in something so intangible, Sherlock was envious and very tempted to trust in it with him. But…Sherlock shook his head in denial…he needed to relieve the man of his delusions. Sherlock was not a good person, and the sooner Harry realised that, the sooner he _regretted_ and _left_ , the less pain both of them would be in. He didn’t want to disappoint the man, but Sherlock was quite sure he would in the end, and if that was the inevitable result…why prolong the bittersweet torment?

“You were schooled.” He blurted out, “your tendency to name each spell you used since we’ve met suggests a systematic learning process, which I assume was from school. Which then would mean you studied with a number of other students. You were a little different however, for your mannerisms suggests wealth, but you’re also overly humble. I’m guessing a difficult childhood, but I wouldn’t pin it on your parents. You spoke fondly of them while you were reiterating your parents’ and their friends’ pranks around the people you know. You’ve tried removing any mentions of your…magical inheritance…but your censoring wasn’t very good. I deduced almost everything in the gaps you left. I…” Sherlock took a breath, and started to explain his whole life, up until Mary’s death, and John’s rejection and his abduction. Ripping the bandaid, that was what he was trying to do. While inside, he was screaming at himself to stop, _to just stop,_ but his logical, practical, senseless side just made him go on and on and on.

When he was done, the silence that permeated the apartment was deafening. Sherlock didn’t dare look at Harry, convinced the wizard would leave at the earliest convenience. Harry…he was horrified. He truly thought his own life was manipulated and out of control and simply resented everything he had went through, yet here he was, sitting so near someone who had even worse luck than he had in life.

“So…what you’re saying is…that guy just now…John…blames you for dying to save his life? And also blames you for his wife dying to save your life?” Harry was confused. It was hurtful to fake one’s death, and the toll it takes on the people who cared would be heart-breaking. But the amount of resentment he saw in that man from before was way more than that.

“No, he was upset that I appeared two years later and ruined his current life. He has also mentioned that he resented that I didn’t trust him enough to tell him.”

“But didn’t he just break your trust before you faked your death?” Harry questioned, and Sherlock could see his genuine confusion over the events that had passed the last few years, “He called you a machine, and proved how ineffective he would be in a mission that required finesse, emotional detachment and logical thinking. How could he expect your trust in such a situation? He was asking for the impossible!”

Sherlock swallowed compulsively at Harry’s words. Sherlock had never seen that whole event in that particular perspective. He’d never told Molly or Lestrade about John’s insult right before he jumped, but he had no qualms telling Harry almost everything. He would never understand emotions, anyone else’s or his own, but it was possible his subconscious had understood the situation and prompted him to act accordingly. He had wanted to tell John the truth, yet he succumbed to Mycroft’s objections almost too easily.

“I…suppose so…” Sherlock responded uncertainly.

“And Mary’s death was the killer’s fault alone. Not yours, nor was it Mary’s. The killer decided that killing you was the way to go, and Mary thought your life was valuable enough to sacrifice for. For what it’s worth, I would have done the same thing if I didn’t have other means of keeping you safe. John was petty, and selfish, and completely out of line to lay the blame with you.” Harry was seething. Dr. John Watson was higher on his shit list than he’d like. He was regretting not injuring the man hours before, just for making this amazing, self-sacrificial man so full of self-doubt. Harry stood up, and walked the two steps right up to Sherlock. He leaned down while putting his right hand behind his neck, and his left hand cupping his cheek, then gently pressing his mouth onto Sherlock’s lips. He savoured Sherlock’s flavour, before licking Sherlock’s slightly trembling lips and retreating.

“I’m still here, still not leaving. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Sherlock gasped softly in shock, and to his annoyance, his transport began to leak tears of emotional release. Harry embraced him easily, as if he, Sherlock, was someone worthy of his tenderness, of his love. And for the first time, Sherlock lifted his arms and clutched Harry’s clothes tightly.


	4. Comfort

##  Chapter 4 – Comfort

Harry held Sherlock against his chest as Sherlock sobbed his broken heart out. The young wizard felt for his soulmate, he really did. John Warson had not been kind to this generous, intelligent man and it had caused Sherlock to doubt anyone’s ability to love him. He tightened his arms around the genius, pausing when the man in his arms whined a little, but having seen no other reactions, Harry proceeded to squeeze the man’s body against himself. He peppered some kisses into Sherlock’s hair and they stayed like this for a very long time.

Sherlock couldn’t remember the last time he felt so safe. Not even when he was a child, had he felt like he had no burdens to conform to other’s expectations. Harry wrapped himself around him as if he didn’t repulse the wizard at all. He let out a pitiful whine when he felt Harry tighten his arms and yet he could only wish for Harry to tighten them even more. It has been so long since he had any positive human contact too. Even before the couple months spent hanging from the ceiling and being subjected to all sorts of pain, John only ever touched him to hurt him, and all his other…people…never exchanged a meaningful touch with him. As if he wasn’t worthy of touch…as if…they couldn’t bear to lay any part of their body against his skin. Harry was a miracle come true, he surrounded him with security and safety and blissful comfortable touch. Sherlock took another shaky breath, and melted into the wizard’s embrace, feeling himself let go and slip through his last barriers of consciousness. He didn’t panic though; he knew he was in good hands.

Harry stroked the genius’s hair for a couple hours, standing before him and letting him rest against his chest as he organised his thought. He’d love to bring the genius back home with him, he could spoil him and they can know more about each other. But Sherlock had friends here, if not John, then Mrs Hudson seemed to be someone he cared about. It wouldn’t do to uproot his life here. Well…there’s no other option then. He would just have to move in here with the genius then, wouldn’t he? He summoned Dobby, asking for some of his clothes and belongings to be brought over, and for the house elf to deliver several letters he’d written to explain the situation. He gently picked the tall genius up from the chair, casting a feather light charm on him simultaneously, and carried him to the adjacent room. He peeked around a little, curious about his soulmate’s room, but Harry didn’t want to break any trust they had between them, so he covered the genius up with some blankets, dropped a kiss on his temple and left the room.

“Which room should Dobby take these, Harry Potter Sir?” His friend returned in minutes, still as swift as ever, and Harry directed him to the room upstairs.

“Decorate it for me, would you, Dobby? I haven’t had the chance to take a look, but I don’t think it’d be to my taste.” Dobby merely blinked and disappeared with a pop, knowing his wizard friend would understand his vanishing as the agreement it was. Harry sighed contentedly before heading out and down the stairs, knocking on the door.

“Oh hi, dear. Do you need help with Sherlock? He can be a handful.” Mrs Hudson, bless her heart, obviously cared for his soulmate, her concern being the first thing she expressed the moment she opened the door and saw him, and Harry was glad that Sherlock at least had someone in his corner.

“Oh, no no, sorry to bother you. But I’d like to rent the room upstairs, and I heard you’re the landlady here. Could we discuss the details?” Harry had little experience, but having been in the business world for more than a decade since the war gave him the experience he needed to sort out contracts and other legal stuff. He was glad he had the knowledge to do this himself, he didn’t want to have to call Hermione just to help him with this. She was the light of his life for a long time, nurturing him almost with a maternal approach, but she deserved to take a break from his problems now and then. It was a minor matter. He quickly settled the terms and conditions, and went back to Sherlock’s flat, stepping into his room to find the exact replica of his room at home.

“I guess Dobby decided to bring my whole room here then…” He muttered to himself in amusement. He spotted his favourite snow-white owl perched near the window and he stroked her cheek gently with the back of his index finger. He greeted her softly before sending her to Gringotts to set up a monthly payment to Mrs Hudson’s bank account. He also decided to set up a muggle joint bank account and deposited a sizeable amount of money in it. His genius soulmate might not want it, but he’d like to offer some means to make Sherlock’s life easier anyway. Harry hoped he wasn’t going to offend Sherlock’s sensibilities, or worse, insult him or something.

Harry settled down to start his paperwork, tons of approvals and other random things to sign for his toy shop company, as well as decrees to amend and do away with. God, when he was hailed Royalty in the Wizarding World, he really didn’t think he’d have to deal with all this crap. Of course, Hermione was right about his “saving people thing”. He not only won the war against Voldemort, he had to gain all sorts of skills and powers in the process, and manage to make the next war look like “a temper tantrum from a two-year-old, easily dissolved”. Well, Hermione always had a way with words, Ron’s “emotional range of a teaspoon” had been the bane of his best friend’s existence since she blurted it out that night. He definitely didn’t know the white phoenix that shot out of his wand when he banished all the dementors – which had decided to run amok and kiss whoever was in their way by the way – was a freaking sign of Royal Lineage. It didn’t help that _even the muggle Queen_ recognised the sign and made him a prince. Well, more of an adopted son of the Queen, but semantics. He was still under the full protection of the Royal family, and his power in the wizarding world was phenomenal. It was archaic, and ancient, and very, very disturbing. He even met foreign wizards in America, France and Germany, and they all _bowed_. He would never get used to it.

By the time he was finished with the paperwork, he was well into dinner time. He walked out of his room to the kitchen and stared at the mess there. A microscope was propped up on one end of the dining table, several petri dishes were littered all over, some weird goo in each of them, there were…were those severed fingers? – random body parts scattered over the table as well. Well…he couldn’t possibly cook in this kitchen. He looked to the left, at the wall with the mantle that held a skull and other knick-knacks. He concentrated and pushed the wall several metres in, checked over the dining table full of experiments for dangling bits, and satisfied with its dignity, floated it over to the enlarged space. He opened the fridge to find a startling human head and sighed in exasperation. Just…what was Sherlock trying to achieve here? He floated the fridge along to the enlarged room as well, making sure to keep the temperature constant as it was cut off from electricity, before reconnecting the power when he set it back down. He looked back at the now empty kitchen, wary of random body parts, he scoured high and low before being satisfied that he moved everything. He called Dobby for a new fridge, a table and some groceries, and got to work cleaning and cooking.

Sherlock woke to decadent smells. He blinked his sleep away and sat up, trying to get a bearing of his surroundings. It’d been a while since he slept this deeply. He deduced how he came to be in his own room, and slipped out of bed, following the smells to the kitchen. He froze, however, when he found none of his experiments had remained in the kitchen, and his chest began to constrict like a boa wrapped itself around his body. He thought Harry was different, that he wouldn’t expect change on his part. He…he’d expected resistance to his more than strange activities and random things he tended to leave all over the house, but…to have gotten rid of all his experiments, not even John had done that. He stood right there at the entrance of the kitchen, unable to move, unable to bring himself to demand answers, for he knew even if Harry had thrown all his stuff out, he’d still be begging for a scrap of attention, for the promised love he thought he would be receiving. He felt tears tingling at the back of his eyes, and he sniffed.

Harry turned around at the sound, and a grin split across his face.

“There you are! I’m making dinner. Hey, why don’t you check on your stuff over there, I needed the kitchen, so I made some space for your set up. I’m not sure if I accidentally messed up anything, and you might need to start over if any of them are damaged, but I’ll help if I can! I’m sorry, I know I should have asked, but…I do need the kitchen and…” Harry trailed off as Sherlock continued to look at him impassively.

“Sherlock?” He prompted, and the genius finally took a sharp deep breath. He turned to look at the area Harry was gesturing at and felt his own eyes widen at the scene. How…how was this even…and he hiccupped.

“Sherlock? What’s wrong? Are you angry? I’m sorry.” Harry’s gentle voice brought Sherlock back from his self-induced haze and the genius looked back at the wizard.

“I…I thought you…threw them away…” the taller man confessed, hanging his head as if it was a huge transgression. Harry’s eyes softened as he took in Sherlock’s demeanour. He must have come down and saw all his stuff gone, and thought he had gotten rid of all his things. Well, of course he did! It wasn’t like Sherlock knew he could expand living spaces! Harry stepped forward and pulled Sherlock’s head down to his shoulder.

“Shh…it’s okay, that was a reasonable deduction. All your things were gone, I understand your reaction.” The wizard stroked Sherlock’s neck for a moment, continuing until he felt the genius was calm enough, before stepping back and looking the genius in his eyes.

“I will never, ever, dismiss your needs or your interests.” Sherlock swallowed at the proclamation, it was an impossible promise to make, especially to someone like himself, but Sherlock couldn’t help but believe in it. He gave Harry a tiny nod, and the wizard smiled.

“Alright, I’m almost done with dinner. Go check on your stuff, I’ll call you when I’m ready.”

Sherlock checked his experiments, happy to find that he didn’t have to redo any of them before he settled down to fiddle with some of them. Less than twenty minutes later, Harry was calling for him.


	5. Understanding

##  Chapter 5 – Understanding

Harry realised he had the tendency to approach Sherlock with a nurturing quality similar to Hermione’s interactions with himself, and he wondered how much Hermione must have seen in his mannerisms that she could easily conclude he lacked such care in his life. He observed Sherlock’s almost quiet glee while he explored the enlarged room, testing its boundaries as he walked past every wall. He then sat down behind his microscope and promptly was lost to his experiments and thoughts. The way Sherlock flitted across the table abruptly to check on something hidden beneath a couple dishes, and then skipped over to another corner to look at another seemingly random thing, he resembled a child shifting his attention from one thing of interest to another. It was adorable, and Harry felt his mouth form a wide smile. He turned back to the food he was preparing, keeping it simple and light considering Sherlock might be unable to ingest solids for a period of time. Harry’s face dimmed as he thought about the circumstances in which he stumbled across his soulmate.

Almost twenty minutes later, he called Sherlock over as he set the table with the light chicken soup and a couple of freshly baked bread. He had requested Dobby bring over some of his freshly proofed bread dough kept under a stasis spell from home for this meal, and depending on Sherlock’s reception, he might request more later. He pushed a bowl of soup and the basket of bread in front of Sherlock before sitting down beside him. The genius docilely picked up his cutlery and digged in, dipping the bread into the soup occasionally. Harry, satisfied that Sherlock was enjoying the food, started on his own as well.

Sherlock was befuddled to say the least. This man sitting beside him never commented on how he was rude for eating without any form of gratitude towards the person who made him all these food. It wasn’t that Sherlock wasn’t grateful…Lord knows how grateful he was to have Harry around. He just… _forget_. God, he so hated it when he forgets these things, it made his interaction with other people so difficult. Harry didn’t say anything though…in fact, judging from the lessening of the wizard’s frown, and the slight relaxation of his shoulders, it seemed Harry was pleased instead. Sherlock wanted to thank Harry, wanted to make sure Harry knew he was grateful before the wizard finds out his less than endearing personality traits. Before he could though, his phone pinged with that particular tone, the one reserved for only one person, Lestrade. He jumped up before he could register what he was doing, and rushed to his phone at the coffee table in the living room, swiftly opening the text he received just seconds before.

Already excited, he read the potential level 9 murder that had occurred. Two sets of twins killed in a locked room, no signs of break-in or even a struggle. He grinned as he collected his coat and got ready to leave, soup and the person who made it already at the back of his mind.

“Hold on!” Harry called, and Sherlock froze. Oh no…he was going to be interrogated and questioned and time would be a-wasting. He wanted to escape immediately, he hated these conversations that he needed to sit through, making people understand his interest in murder scenes and his joy in solving them has always been a disaster in the making. Sherlock groaned as he succumbed to reality. He didn’t want to lose Harry to this, even if it was a nine. He paused at the door, waiting impatiently for Harry to get on with it.

Harry stared amusedly as he saw Sherlock read a text in record time and proceeded to grab his coat. He looked so excited Harry couldn’t help but chuckle a little. He turned his head a little to cover his laugh, but caught a glimpse of Sherlock’s unfinished food. Harry straightened up, calling out to Sherlock to wait while he quickly magicked the bread into a ziplock bag and grabbing his own coat.

“I’m going with you. Where are we going?” He figured wherever they were going will be some distance away, and Sherlock could eat in the cab.

Sherlock only managed to hold himself until he saw Harry nearing the door before he lost his patience and rushed out the apartment.

_Well, too excited to answer anything…must be a particularly interesting text._

Harry followed at a slightly more reasonable pace and reached the main road just in time to get into the cab Sherlock summoned. Once he was inside, he opened the bag he packed and passed a piece of bread to Sherlock.

“Here, you didn’t finish. Eat this while we’re on the way there.” This time, Sherlock wasn’t as receptive to Harry’s offering though. He shook his head in resistance, and when Harry persisted, he snapped at the patient man.

“I _don’t want_ to eat.”

Sherlock gasped in shock and froze. That wouldn’t go well, in fact… _why did he do that?_ The abrupt onslaught of John’s usual annoyed reaction came up to the forefront of his mind, and it was suddenly the only thing he could think about.

_“Well, forgive me for caring!”_

Then the silence…the unending, uncomfortable silence he knew meant John wasn’t going to talk to Sherlock until he somehow made up to him. More recently, it had been more than silence. It had been the persistent idea to punish him that made him fear John’s reaction. John devised the perfect way to torture him, refusing to acknowledge his presence no matter how loudly he announced his arrival to wherever John was, talking to others but him. It was no longer a mere refusing to talk, but a determined show of pretending Sherlock wasn’t there. That made the loneliness so much more profound.

If Harry did that…Sherlock sobbed, horrified at his trembling hands as he brought them up to cover his mouth.

“Hey…hey! Love, look at me!” Harry has been trying to get Sherlock’s attention for a while, and the cabbie has been throwing surreptitious looks at them for a while. Harry was a little surprised at Sherlock’s refusal to eat, but what was _this_? The sudden rigidity of Sherlock’s body and the near panic attack Sherlock was displaying seemed uncannily similar to when they went home to see John in the apartment.

“I…I’m sorry…sorry sorry sorry sorry…” Sherlock was softly repeating, breaking Harry’s heart as he did so. He didn’t hesitate as he cupped Sherlock’s face in his palms and tilted it up from the pitiful crouch Sherlock tried to squeeze himself into.

“Love, look at me darling, focus on me. Everything’s fine, you’re safe, I’m not going anywhere.” Harry frantically murmured reassurances, not that it worked. But he projected his breaths, anyway, sucking in air loudly and huffing it out just so. He dealt with as many panic attacks as he could ever count in his lifetime, including his own. Sherlock’s multiple apologies died down after minutes, the cab stopped at the curb of a massive police taped area, and Harry only had eyes for the trembling genius in his arms. When Sherlock had his breathing under control, he shakily gulped a few more breaths just to be sure. He lowered his eyes, breaking free from Harry’s gentle grip, whispering another apology.

“Sorry…didn’t…didn’t mean to…” Harry tucked him back into his protective arms.

“No, it’s fine. I’m not mad ok? Shhhh, everything’s going to be fine. Why don’t we get out of the cab, huh? It’s getting crampy in here.” Sherlock nodded in response and noting the rather large stack of bills on the mantle beside the cabbie, he got out of the car swiftly.

Harry’s heart broke at the uncertainty on Sherlock’s face. The genius was standing at the edge of the road, eyes lowered in perceived shame and acting as if he had done something so terribly wrong. So Sherlock snapped at him for getting into his space and then proceeded to panic, it wasn’t his fault! Harry stepped up to him, intent in setting this right, but the full body flinch stopped both his movements and his heart.

“Sherlock?” Harry prompted softly. The genius only tightened his grip on his shirt. Harry decided to go for it and reached out for Sherlock’s hands anyway. Gently as he could, he plucked the genius’s hands out of the tight grip in his shirt and tugged him into his arms. He gave him a patient hug, stroking his back as he attempted to soothe his heart.

“Digestion slows me down…” Sherlock whispered into Harry’s ears, and everything slowed down for Harry. It all made so much sense now. From what Sherlock had told him, this amazing man thinks at a speed no one can compare. He had intimate experiences with a genius, Hermione specifically, yet even she hadn’t processed information at the speed that his soulmate did. Harry did know the basics of human physiology though, and oxygen in the brain had to be what was maintaining the processing power he needed. Metabolism and everything else would slow the thinking process down, and if he were right, Sherlock would feel the difference more acutely than any other ordinary person. Did Sherlock try explaining to other people and get hurt for it in the past? Was it John? Harry furrowed his eyebrows in concern. Did John shame Sherlock into this trembling mess when he refused to eat?

“Ok, ok I get it. Let’s go do what we came here for, and then we’ll talk later, alright?” Sherlock pushed himself upright, nodded timidly before turning towards the yellow tape surrounding what seemed like an apartment.


	6. Power

They walked towards the surrounded area, Harry leading slightly as Sherlock followed with less enthusiasm than when they started, stopping just short of the police tape. Sherlock ducked down to cross the boundary only to be interrupted, as always, by Sergeant Sally Donovan. The sergeant has been increasingly unbearable since Sherlock’s return. It seemed his stunt with his own death has crossed not only those he cared about, but also those whom he really could not give a damn about. This woman has been out for him since day one, and now she was just dialling it up.

No matter, the genius couldn’t care less about her, and refused to even acknowledge her. He used to rise to the bait, the little bit of entertainment enough to stimulate his mind just before an exciting case. Recently though, tired as he was of John’s hurtful blame and just…life itself…he just couldn’t bring up the energy to respond to her. Not for her lack of trying though!

“Freak! We don’t need you here, go back.” Sherlock bit his lips as he paused. He didn’t mind the occasionally too vindictive streak of one Sergeant Donovan, but he was meant to be on his best behaviour. Harry had just been forced to deal with his less than stellar attitude towards food mere seconds ago, and he didn’t want to do anything that might jeopardise whatever they had between them. Not to mention what the sergeant had told John the first day they met, if she reiterated that to Harry as well…Sherlock was sure John had remembered her words and had his opinions skewed somewhat. The genius was reluctant to have Harry form his opinions of him around the bloody annoying woman. Maybe the case wasn’t that interesting after all. He should go home, do as Harry told him to do and eat some food.

He was startled, however, by the ice-cold fury practically emanating from his companion.

“ _What_ did you _call him_?” Harry was furious. That word haunted him for sixteen years of his life, and his unwelcome dreams whispered them for years after. To have that unoriginal _illegal_ word uttered in his presence, towards someone he cared more than anyone else, he could smite her. He could will lightning down and strike her as she stood. He cursed his morals as he poured his fury into his voice. _How dare she?_

Sally was more composed than she should be. Raising her eyebrows in sarcasm, she ignored the stranger and turned to Sherlock.

“Got another one, have you? John not helping anymore, so now you’re going to prey on another bloke? God you’re still a psychopath, still getting high on murders and not caring who you ruin in the process.” She turned to the unknown man beside the genius, “you’d do better staying away from him. John saw the errors of his way, the freak stepped over one too many lines. Make sure he doesn’t cross yours. He thinks they’re not important.”

Harry glared at the woman, focusing on not unleashing his wrath. He wasn’t quite sure what Sherlock came here for, but from what he gathered, there has been a murder, and Sherlock was called over to help. Well…if that was how they treated someone they ask for help from, then they shouldn’t receive the help they needed. Harry swiped his phone out from his back pocket.

“What’s her name?” He asked as he searched for the contact. Sherlock, mortified by the conversation, hoping against hope that Harry wouldn’t believe Donovan, glanced back at Harry. He gave the wizard the information he asked for, for once not knowing what he intended to do, unable to deduce due to lack of data. The wizard was upset, that was easy to catch. He was definitely acting on his anger. But who would he call? Harry merely hummed in response. The genius furrowed his eyebrows as he waited, curious enough to be patient, his interest in the case dwindling in favour of puzzling out his…his soulmate.

“Get Silas.” Harry said…no, he commanded. He spoke with authority and expectations to be obeyed. Sherlock tilted his head slightly as he studied the wizard.

“Sally Donovan, I want her in my house by tonight.” Sherlock’s jaw dropped slightly in astonishment. Harry seemed to be quite violent in his response to the sergeant. He couldn’t blame the wizard, certainly not, but he didn’t quite expect such a high level of derision. He noticed Donovan’s jump when Harry mentioned her name, but Sherlock surmised that Harry deliberately made that call right in front of her to cause that reaction. The genius tugged at Harry’s sleeve tentatively.

“Harry? I…she isn’t really bothering me, maybe you could…” Lestrade would be upset. Hell, Sherlock knew enough of the Scotland yard to know that he wouldn’t be welcome here anymore if Harry carried out what he set out to do. But of course, the one person who wasn’t derailed by his genius and spontaneity had to be as stubborn as himself.

“No.” Sherlock lowered his eyes for a moment, unwilling to be in Harry’s way when he was emitting tangible fumes of fury. Well, that was it then. His work was shot to hell. Harry was a better puzzle anyway, he tried consoling himself. It seemed as though Harry’s issues with Donovan wasn’t her rudeness or her insult. At least, not completely. Harry’s temper was mild and cheerful, he has never been truly upset with Sherlock, and Sherlock knew even though he had been on his so-called best behaviour, he still wasn’t an easy person to interact with. If one sentence out of Donovan could elicit such a reaction, then it wasn’t her attitude…but her words. Harry was upset with the word ‘freak’, and Sherlock, for once in his life, felt anger and sadness in his heart. What could have happened to Harry to cause such a reaction?

Sally looked at the both of them in suspicion but snorted in self-absorbed humour. As if they could do anything to a police officer. Sherlock inwardly thought no one could be more of an idiot than the woman standing before them. If he himself could have a brother as powerful as Mycroft, why couldn’t Harry be as powerful as well?

Harry sighed in frustration. He hated when his anger got the better of him. He turned back to his favourite genius and reached out to his hand. Sherlock looked cautious of his movements, and Harry regretted shooting his soulmate down so definitely. He pulled slightly, tugging him and started walking back the way they came from.

“I’ll get you more cases. We have interesting ones at the Palace, you can help solve them.” Harry soothed gently, knowing Sherlock wanted to work, but Harry couldn’t allow him to work in such a toxic environment.

That cheered Sherlock right up. “The Palace?” He heard that the Buckingham Palace’s cases were the most interesting and difficult. He loved the mystery and the thrill. Mycroft wouldn’t let him close to any of them, only asking him for help for cases of lost items and retrieval missions. But their murder cases had to be even better! Terrorist groups! International threats! It sounded like the best work ever! If Harry could give him that, Sherlock wouldn’t mind this soulmate thing at all!

Something tugged at his mind though, as he followed along Harry’s direction. He pulled Harry’s hand to a stop lightly.

“My…Lestrade, the Detective Inspector…he’s…” Was Lestrade his friend? Sherlock was positive he cared for the man, and the Detective Inspector cared for him as well, but he didn’t know how they stood regarding their relationship. Sherlock still didn’t want to upset Lestrade, and Lestrade only ever wanted to help people.

Harry stared at Sherlock in confusion, then melted in understanding.

“A friend?” He asked softly, and at Sherlock’s timid nod, Harry turned around decisively and led themselves back to the crime scene. If Sherlock’s here for his friend and not just wanted to solve a mystery, then Harry could be supportive of that. Well, the rude policewoman should be gone by now. Silas was as quick as they come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sally's predicament is not done yet! We'll deal with her later.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock takes his first case since he met Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry everyone! I know you have been waiting really really long for the next chapter. And here it is!! I've read all the comments you guys have been leaving, and I gotta say...I AM STILL ALIVE hahahahaha! But I have become a tad busier than before and time management has become an unattainable dream. I have also opened my new online shop (since I'm mentioning it...links are in the notes below...I might add these links in my other stories too hahahaha) and I have been busy with the prep work and other stuff I needed to do for the shop. 
> 
> I hope you all like this chapter! And rest assured I will DEFINITELY finish all my stories!
> 
> Love,  
> Antoinette

Harry pulled his genius by the hand back to the police taped area, ducking under the tape without anyone in their way. He felt Sherlock tug at him a little when he noticed the absence of the Sergeant, but he strode ahead, and Sherlock stumbled a little in his insistence and followed along. He let Sherlock take the lead as they neared the apartment they were supposed to go to, stepping through the threshold. No one alive was in sight when they entered, but Harry took a glimpse at the four corpses at the table and looked away indifferently. He still felt his heart clench every time he saw anyone dead, but his vast experience in looking at dead people has trained him in the art of keeping his mind straight even in gruesome situations.

“Lestrade!” Sherlock called, and Harry looked on curiously as someone’s head appeared from one of the rooms.

“Sherlock? What took you so long?” The man asked, noticing Harry’s presence and following the question with another, “Who’s this?”

Lestrade’s slightly impertinent question was softened with his authority and right as a Detective Inspector and the respect in his tone. This was not the same situation as Sally Donovan. Harry stepped forward and extended his hand, leaving Sherlock free to flit around the apartment like an over eager beagle.

“Harry Potter. Sherlock’s new…erm…”

“Friend.” Sherlock interjected as he lifted the newspaper lying on the couch to see something underneath it.

“Oh!” Lestrade exclaimed, “Detective Lestrade. You must be the first person Sherlock claims to be his friend.” He grabbed Harry’s hand and shook it firmly.

“This _is_ a crime scene, so if you could…” He gestured towards the door and before Harry could say anything…

“He’s with me.” Sherlock interrupted. Shooting a confused questioning look at Harry, the Detective accepted his answer and looked at Sherlock instead.

“What do you have?” Lestrade questioned as Harry observed the Detective’s interactions with Sherlock quietly, silently taking note of Sherlock’s relaxed demeanour and happy little humming.

Sherlock gestured at the table with the four victims.

“They were poisoned by that glass of wine over there, they all lived in this house together, but there should be a fifth person living here as well. Whoever that person is, he studies in the same school as the four of them. The victims are two sets of couples, but the fifth person is, or was, single. They’ve tried to erase that fifth boy out of their lives, it seems.”

“What do you mean?”

“Harry?” Sherlock had a good idea of Harry’s intellect and insight. During the past few days of interaction, Harry understood his cues and needs much better than anyone ever had. He surpassed even Mycroft. His observation skills had to be top notch. The only difference between Harry and himself would be the ability to filter what he says. Well…other than the obvious…magical…difference.

“I’d say the murderer is a girl, a relative, or…a sister. We’ll have to find both that fifth person as well as the sister.” He didn’t disappoint. Sherlock was absolutely satisfied with his soulmate’s ability to observe. He was sure Lestrade didn’t understand how Harry saw what he saw.

“How…how did you know that?” The Detective Inspector asked in surprise. As far as he knew, there were only two people in the world who could see what Sherlock saw, and that was Mycroft, and Sherlock himself. What he didn’t know, was Harry Potter fought in two wars, both of which required extensive knowledge in looking out for anomalies, patterns and anything that could be construed as clues.

“There is a fifth chair at the table, but only four victims. The boy Sherlock mentioned was meticulously erased from their lives, so the likelihood of him being the murderer, in a setting where they had an amicable meal, is exceptionally low. The dish before the empty seat has a couple of sweet treats, which suggests a sweet tooth. Not to be gender stereotypical here, but the miniature sizes of the treats, as well as the hair scrunchie right beside the plate are pretty strong tells.” Harry had no qualms explaining how he came to his conclusions and inferences. He was used to explaining to Ron whenever he saw something Ron didn’t, and his time teaching the DA was useful in honing his patience.

Sherlock was practically bouncing in excitement. Harry was exceptional! Not only did he see all of that, he did it without using the magic Sherlock thought he would. Sherlock had expected an answer that could be verified by magical means, yet his explanations only gave Sherlock’s already high opinion of him a huge boost.

“Exactly!” Sherlock gleefully exclaimed before running out the door and down the stairs. Harry stared after him, calling out to him asking for a minute before turning back to the Inspector.

“It was nice to meet you!” Harry hurriedly said before turning around and chasing after Sherlock. The adorable consultant already having a head start, Harry wanted to stay with him in case he got into trouble like the one he rescued the genius from in that underground facility. He heard a soft “Likewise” from the Inspector before he turned the corner and rushed down the stairs after Sherlock.

When Harry reached the bottom of the stairs, he expected Sherlock to be already out of sight. He grinned as he spotted the genius impatiently standing by the barricade tape, glancing in his direction every second. Sherlock grinned in response as he spotted Harry’s presence and he ran off in the distance again. Harry pumped his feet as quickly as he could and caught up with Sherlock in less than a minute. He laughed out loud as Sherlock nudged him in the ribs when he caught amidst their running. Harry realised Sherlock must have slowed himself down to allow Harry to catch up. Wherever they were running towards, Sherlock was willing to share it with Harry, and Harry felt a ball of joy fill his heart as he realised how much he must mean to Sherlock for him to make such a concession.

It only took them about four hours to find what they were looking for. Amongst the trash bins a couple blocks away, they found a huge recycling bag full of items belonging to a kid named Wyatt Thomas. His student ID, his shoes, his clothes, and a very clear photo of him and the four victims. Sherlock and Harry carried the contents home, as they both bounced theories off each other on the way back.

Harry wandlessly and wordlessly opened their front door and startled at the scene in their living room. Sherlock came up to his side a second later and paused as well. As much as they wanted to continue searching through the contents of the recycling back, this matter took precedence in both their minds. Sally Donovan was sitting, tied up, in a wooden chair undoubtably brought over by the man standing in attention beside her.

Cautiously, Harry greeted the man.

“Silas.” And the man acknowledged him with a “Sir.” Sherlock blinked, his mind coming up with multiple different inferences, but he kept his questions to himself. He would be getting the answers soon anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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